“Bacon cheeseburger, obviously.”
Kye winks and turns to the bar. I sit back in my chair and keep looking at the menu, even though I remember it well enough. Ooh, chocolate fudge cake.
“Excuse me? Is that Kye Burke you’re with?”
I blink harshly and turn to the teenage girl standing next to the table with stars in her eyes. “Um, yes?”
She inhales excitedly and flaps her hands.
Seriously, what is that?
“Do you think you could get his autograph for me? Wait, are you on a date?”
“I’m not sure, and no, we’re not. We’re friends.”
“Oh, good. ’Cause I really love him.” She grins widely, practically shaking.
I stare at her. “I can ask him for an autograph when he gets back if you want, uh . . . ?”
“Violet,” she breathes.
“Oh, look, he’s coming back now.” I give Kye a look that tells him to hurry the hell up.
I’m so not equipped to deal with fangirls.
“What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, stopping next to the girl and setting our drinks on the table.
Okay. Now she’s shaking. And is she—oh God, is she crying a little? What is this insanity?
“This is Violet.” I smile tightly. “She was wondering if she could get your autograph.”
“Well now!” He turns and gives her a dazzling smile. “You sure can. You got a pen and paper?”
She gasps and freezes, so I dig a pen from my purse and hand him a napkin. “Here.”
Kye winks at me, then bends over to rest the napkin on the table. “You want a picture, too?”
She’s seriously crying now. Oh shit. What the freakin’ hell is happening here?
“Do you want me to take it?” I prompt.
She nods and hands me her phone. Kye rests his arm over her shoulders and I snap a pic.
“Thanks,” she squeaks, before grabbing the napkin and running away.
Kye slides my drink across to me.
“What was that?” I utter after a sip.
“That was a day in the life of Dirty B.” He smirks. “They’re the worst, the ones that can’t even talk. Now she’ll go home, berate herself for not talking to me, then tweet the crap out of me all night in screaming caps.”
“Oh, sounds . . . fun.” I lift my drink and sip some more. “Can I expect more?”
“Probably. Good thing this isn’t a date, huh?”
“Word. It’s enough to put a girl off a guy, even if he is ripped and tatted, you know?”
“You think I’m ripped and tatted?”
“This from the Burke brother with a known penchant for removing his shirt onstage.”
Kye grins. “You watch our concerts?”
“Watch them, record them, listen to them a thousand times to appease my daughter. What can I say? She’s a Dirty B. diva.” I roll my eyes.
“Dirty B. Diva. We should call our groupies that.”
“After my daughter? Ew.”
“No, Mila would be the Dirty B. Diva. No one can fangirl us like she can.”
“You’ve never seen her fangirl. It’s adorable and not, well, frankly, scary. She just booty pops to your songs.”
He snorts. “Your two-year-old booty pops?”
I hold my hands up as our food is placed in front of us. “Don’t tell me I ain’t bringin’ her up right.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Any woman who brings her daughter up to booty pop to my music deserves a medal.”
“Why thank you.” I shove a fry in my mouth. “I think so, too. It’s quite a feat.”
“What is? Booty poppin’?” Tate interrupts, dragging a stool over. “Nah, Sofie’s got enough booty for all of us.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Chaperoning,” Aidan says, sitting on the other side of the table.
I look between them both. “Are you kiddin’ me?”
“Nope. Ooh, fries.” Tate leans forward and grabs a handful off my plate.
I slap his hand. “Don’t you have whores to use?”
“Nah, Nina’s not in town this weekend.”
“And she’s your only option?” I scoff.
“The only one he hasn’t already pissed off,” Aidan explains. “But no, we’re not kidding. We’re here to chaperone.”
“Yeah, because friends having a burger and a drink need chaperoning. Who knew that shit was necessary?” Kye snaps, taking a long drink of his beer.
“This is a date, and under Burke brother rules, all dates must be chaperoned,” Tate replies, unaffected, grabbing fries off Kye’s plate this time.
“Yeah? Maybe you should have chaperoned all those dates me and Conner had in the woods, then,” I mutter, tearing off a bite of my burger.
I’m not even hungry anymore. I’m angry. Majorly fucking angry. I have no idea who Conner thinks he is sending his brothers to watch my not-a-date with Kye. Even if it was a date, he has no right to do that.
He made that clear himself.
I slump back in my chair and pick at my burger. Kye meets my eyes and shrugs apologetically. I get it. It’s not his fault. Besides, he’s only here because I dumbly wanted to spite Conner.
I took immaturity and responded with it, and now it’s biting me in the ass, because I can’t even have dinner with a friend.
And apparently I can’t have dinner with three, if the group of girls hovering by the bar is anything to go by.
“Ugh.” I push my glass toward Tate. “Another Jack and Coke. Make it a double.”
“Do I look like your servant?”
“No, but since you hijacked my fake date and there’s a bunch of girls by the bar waiting to jump into bed with any of you, I suggest you get that drink so I can survive the next however-damn-long this is going to go on.” I give the glass another nudge. “Off you go.”
Three hours, five Jack and Cokes, and a hundred fans later, I get into Kye’s truck and huff loudly.
“Remind me never to go out with any of you asses in public ever again.” I buckle my seat belt and rub my temples.
He laughs. “Drunk, Sofie?”
“Nope. Happy, but not drunk. Happier if we hadn’t been hijacked by both your brothers and the Dirty B. Brigade.”
“Dirty B. Brigade?” He snorts.
“Oh, I forgot. They’re Dirty B. Divas.” I roll my eyes. “Forgive my oversight.”
“I will, this time.” He winks. “What will Conner say when you turn up a little unsteady on your feet?”